


Shadows

by Lycaeus



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: PTSD John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaeus/pseuds/Lycaeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John suffers from nightly episodes from his PTSD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Sherlock or John before. And even though I think the idea of a PTSD John is probably overdone, I wanted to put my own spin on it since I had PTSD for a while (even though mine had nothing to do with war like John's would most likely be). Nonetheless, I had my episodes at night in bed so that's where I started for this one.
> 
> This is also an extended version of the two parts I put anonymously in someone's tumblr.

            He squints as the sun seems to shine right in his eyes. He can't shift positions, not when the pain is unbearable. Any attempt to roll over is hindered by the protest from his wound, he wants nothing more to scream, all he emits is a groan of pain. A rock digs into his back; he must have fallen on it when the shot hit. 

            "John?"

            The sound goes unheard among the commotion of fellow soldiers coming to assess his situation.  More gunshots.

            "John!"

            A muffled sound breaks through reverie, a long past memory that his mind had to revisit nightly.  Every time he was about to fall into slumber.

            The sunlight fades into the dim shadows of his bedroom. 221B Baker Street. Eyes focus from the dazed vision of a recurring memory, focus on his flatmate shaking his shoulders in an attempt to break him from his nightly fits.

            "Are you alright?" 

            "I'm fine, Sherlock."

            He's not fine, he can see the scrutinizing gaze that Sherlock knows he's not fine either. He can practically see himself through Sherlock's eyes, the sweat upon his brow, the way his breath hitches, the tremble of his hands as he grips his sheet. 

            "Another one?" Sherlock turns away. 

            "Yes." He only watches as Sherlock leaves the room, returning with a cup of tea to help soothe his habitual nightmares. Because when it struck, Sherlock knew what could ease the pains, if only for one more night.


End file.
